Page 55 of Good Graces

Daniel smirks, eyes glinting with amusement. “They’re a lot.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I can see that.”

My mom is smiling, watching the interaction like it’s the best thing she’s seen all night. She looks genuinely happy. Maybe it’s seeing me talk to them. Maybe it’s seeing me slot into this version of a family, even if I’m still figuring out where I belong.

“Alright,” I mutter. “This has been fun, but I gotta get back to serving.”

My mom squeezes my arm. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

I offer a half smile before stepping back and disappearing into the crowd.

The Sycamore banquet is still in full swing. The hum of conversation rides over the clink of glasses and the shuffle of designer shoes across marble floors, crisp and controlled like everything else here. I weave through a group of members, nod at one of the other servers, and make my way toward the bar.

I should be working. Clearing tables, checking trays, pretending I care about making this place run smoothly. Instead, I lean against the polished edge of the bar, let out a breath, and let my focus drift.

Quinn stands to my right, waiting on a drink order, her back to me. The hem of her uniform clings to her hips in a way that makes it impossible not to notice. Her hair is pulled into some kind of loose knot, but a few strands have slipped free, curling down the back of her neck.

I know I shouldn’t let my gaze linger. I shouldn’t watch her. But I do.

We’re wearing the same stiff black uniform, bland and shapeless, designed to make us blend in. On her, it doesn’t. On her, it moves like a second skin. Like it was made to fall that way. She shifts her weight, balancing a few empty glasses at the edge of the bar, her movements fluid and practiced, like her body already knows what to do before her mind has to ask.

There’s something about it that catches me off guard. The ease of it. The precision. Like everything about her has already found its rhythm.

Her eyes flick to mine for just a second. She tilts her head, assessing, like she’s measuring the air between us. Then she smirks. A small thing, barely there, but it hits its mark. With that single look, she pulls me back in like gravity.

I take a step closer, not even thinking about it. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just instinct.

Because it’s her.

Because it always is.

By the time I’m standing beside her, she’s already facing the counter again, fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the tray in front of her.

“Took you long enough,” she says, still not looking at me.

I scoff as I lean back. “Didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

She tsks, finally cutting her sharp gaze back to mine. “You’re always on my schedule, Mercer.”

A breath sticks in my throat. It’s a joke. Just a throwaway line, meant to tease, to poke at the tension strung tight between us. But I don’t laugh. Because she’s right.

I’ve spent the last two years pretending we don’t exist on the same timeline. Dodging run-ins, sidestepping conversations, avoiding the inevitability of this—us. And yet, here I am, leaning against the bar, standing too close, watching the way her fingers trace aimless patterns in the condensation on the counter like it means something.

She tips her head toward the ballroom. “How’s your night going? Enjoying the spectacle?”

I let out a short laugh. “Oh, yeah. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night. Wearing a crooked tie and making sure some guy named Richard—also known as Dick—doesn’t get served the wrong scotch.”

She smirks. “Don’t forget your mingling duties. I saw you earlier, schmoozing it up with Stepdaddy Dearest.”

I exhale, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah, well. Can’t avoid family forever.”

Something flickers across her expression. It’s quick, barely there, but I catch it. I always do. The slight press of her lips. The way her fingers stall for a beat before moving again. She’s never been close with her parents, not in the way people like to pretend they are. But Wesley—he’s the exception.

She loves him with a kind of protectiveness that borders on fierce. Like she’d take on the whole damn world just to keep it from touching him.

She shifts her tray to her other hand, her voice light but her eyes still on mine. “You look good in a tie.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

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